


The Alderman Ford Touch-a-Thon Event

by samanthahirr



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Competition, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthahirr/pseuds/samanthahirr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam and Kris never tried out for American Idol. Instead, in August 2010, they meet in a very different kind of competition, trying to win a new car in an all-day dealership challenge. But can they keep their hands on the car instead of each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alderman Ford Touch-a-Thon Event

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you's go to my beta [](http://cinaea.livejournal.com/profile)[**cinaea**](http://cinaea.livejournal.com/) , my first reader [](http://reoracer.livejournal.com/profile)[**reoracer**](http://reoracer.livejournal.com/), and the entire [](http://community.livejournal.com/ficfinishing/profile)[**ficfinishing**](http://community.livejournal.com/ficfinishing/) community, who helped me get this story written. If you haven't checked out this fabulous support-community for writers, you should definitely take the time. And they're always looking for volunteers to _read_ the new works in progress, so you don't have to be a writer to participate! Special location-scouting credit goes to [](http://choose2live.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://choose2live.livejournal.com/)**choose2live** \- Los Angeles fact-checker-beta extraordinaire!

"Touch it, baby!" Brad yelled from the other side of the black velvet ropes. "Touch it _hard_!"

Adam rolled his eyes and pressed his palms flatter against the red candy finish of the 2011 Ford Fusion Hybrid. Widening his stance, he leaned over the side of the hood, sticking his ass out and giving Brad a wiggle.

"Lick it! Make that car your bitch!"

Soccer Mom across from him made a tsking noise under her breath and Adam leered, licking his tongue out just an inch above the gleaming paint job. She sniffed and lifted her chin, turning her eyes away. Her hands stayed glued to the hood.

"I thought only children marked their territory like that," a light voice drawled to his right.

Adam straightened up and shot his competitor an assessing look. He'd noticed the short package of cuteness during sign-in, but hadn't picked up on the tantalizing Southern accent before. "Call it lust at first sight. I lick anything that turns me on," he answered, a suggestive tilt to his lips.

"And _this_ car gets you hot?" Cute Guy asked, looking up at him with a skeptical eyebrow twitch. "Shouldn't you be going for something bigger?"

Adam looked up and down the length of the car, and the length of the guy while he was at it. Nice. "Oh, believe me, it's _exactly_ my type. I like a tight fit, with a solid body and attractive exterior. Something versatile and easy to handle that I can take for long rides before it wears out. With a plush interior and a backseat I could really go to town in."

Cute Guy's eyes were wide, cheeks flushing pink as he stammered, "Um…." After a long moment he seemed to shake himself, got his mouth working enough to say, "Wow, you sure know how to sell a car," with almost enough tease in his tone to cover his discomfort.

Cute and _straight_. Adam made a mental note of his neighbor's flustered shyness as a potential angle of attack and told himself not to be so disappointed. If the Universe didn't plan on getting him well-laid this weekend, then chances were good he was destined for some wheels.

Adam shimmied to the Kesha song playing on the mall's public address system while he checked out the crowd of spectators. It wasn't even 9 a.m. yet, but a decent number of shoppers had already wandered up to the third floor food court to scope out the day's big draw. The Alderman Ford Dealership's Touch-a-Thon Event had been publicized on all the local stations for the past week, and everybody wanted to see the crazies who had volunteered for a weekend of public humiliation.

From his position on the driver's side, Adam had a perfect view out the floor-to-ceiling windows, and he took a moment to appreciate the shimmering brilliance of the Pacific Ocean just two blocks away.

He also had a pretty good view of his 11 competitors. Across the car from him, Soccer Mom was trying to make friends with giggling Cheerleader positioned at the front right headlight. Cheerleader was, in turn, making eyes at College Prepster standing by the back seat. Family Man was chatting politely with Office Worker across from him, who was ignoring Grandma next to her. The two pretty people Adam identified as Waitress-Slash-Actress and Waiter-Slash-Actor had formed opinions of mutual superiority and were avoiding eye contact with each other at all costs. Last but certainly not least, two 20-something Jocks were yukking it up on the trunk.

Adam narrowed his eyes and studied their body language. Even though competitor selection had been done by lottery, it looked like Jocks 1 and 2 already knew each other. He might have to separate them quickly if it turned out they already had an alliance.

Brad was still yelling the filthiest encouragements he could think of, the latest being, "Get up on that beast and rub that monster cock of yours all over it!"

"This is not a White Snake video, babe," Adam called over his shoulder.

"Oh god, _that_! Do _that_!" Brad shouted back, even as Danielle tried frantically to shush him. "With the splits and the grinding!"

Cute Guy cleared his throat. "Boyfriend?" he asked the window in front of him, not meeting Adam's eyes. His ears were still flushed red from Adam's earlier come-on.

Adam smirked and leaned into his space to answer intimately, "Ex," drawing out the ksss nice and long.

"Oh. Okay." Cute Guy rubbed at the back of his neck with his left hand, which left an opening Adam couldn't let pass.

"I'm Adam," he said, holding out his hand.

Cute Guy remembered to put his left hand on the car before reaching across his body to shake with his right. Damn it.

"Kris. Nice to meet you."

Cute Guy didn't seem to have noticed Adam's little bid to eliminate him. Adam smiled like he genuinely cared and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, too. So, Kris," he leaned in again, voice dropping low as he slid his fingers across Kris's palm, "are you the _curious_ type?"

Kris jerked his hand back. "What? Uh, no. What?"

Adam turned the charm on full-force, licking his lips and angling his hips toward Kris. "You asked about my boyfriend. I figure, a guy like you, there must be _some_ reason for you to ask that, even if it's just…curiosity."

Kris stared at him, deer in headlights for a few seconds, but then his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Oh my gosh, are you…are you trying to intimidate me with your gay?"

Adam pulled back and fought down his own blush. "No," he lied.

"You are! You're trying to make me uncomfortable so I'll leave!"

"I am not!"

Kris was talking a little too loud for Adam's liking—he had high hopes for his ability to scare off Soccer Mom and Family Man. God willing, they were Bill O'Reilly fans.

"I'm so not," he added with withering finality and turned his attention back to the other participants.

The Jocks were busy checking out the check out girl serving breakfast burritos at Pinches Tacos when, to Adam's horror, they fist-bumped. That was it. They had to go. Adam turned around to catch Brad and Danielle's eyes.

Danielle dropped her hand from Brad's mouth and they both made significant eyebrows at him.

Adam held up his fingers in the peace sign and tipped his head toward the back of the car. Two heads turned and considered Adam's opponents, and then looked back at him. Brad grabbed his crotch twice and held up his fist. When Danielle met him in a fist-bump, Adam nodded firmly and turned back around like he hadn't just ordered a hit.

Kris cleared his throat and cocked a significant eyebrow of his own.

"What?" Adam asked, innocent.

"Whatever you're up to…. This isn't _Survivor_. Don't be an asshole."

"This is totally _Survivor_, and would you mind lowering your voice?"

"Are you serious? You really think you can psych people into letting go of this car?"

"I know I can," Adam sniffed. "And if you're smart, you'll help me."

Kris gave a disapproving frown. "Alliances? Man, you are way too into this."

"So that's a no on joining forces?"

The short guy huffed and turned his head away.

"Fine, be the lone wolf. But you'll be the only one…" he sing-songed.

"Craaa-zaaay," Kris sang back, looking out at the ocean.

"I'm not crazy. You see Jocks 1 and 2 down there? They already have an alliance."

"No, they have a _friendship_. They work at the same talent agency."

Adam stopped teasing for a moment and looked at Kris. Adorable, innocuous, and already aware of crucial information about their competitors. He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I met 'em during the lottery. They're cool."

"They just fist-bumped each other," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? So! Fist-bumps! Don't tell me you're into that."

"I'm not into _anything_. That's just…normal."

"You really are a lost cause," Adam shook his head. "What else do you know about them?"

"Their names are John and Steve, and Steve has an old Honda he needs to replace."

"So they _do _have an alliance," Adam said triumphantly. "Whichever of them wins, Steve gets the car!"

"No, if John wins, Steve gets John's old BMW."

"Oh, go to fucking hell," Adam sighed involuntarily. Because if _he_ had to choose between taking the bus to his gigs or driving a used luxury car, all his problems would be officially over.

Kris grimaced. "I know," he agreed. "My car's been in the shop for months, and I _still_ can't afford the repairs. We should all have their problems."

"See," Adam pressed, "this is what I'm talking about—an alliance. We should have an alliance. We can help each other take down the rich and powerful."

Kris seemed maybe willing to consider it, but then he glanced down and snorted. "Uh, I don't think so. You look like an early-out."

"What?"

"You're not gonna make it past the first break in those things."

Adam looked down at his favorite day-boots and smiled fondly. "What, these?" He gave a fetching ankle turn to show off the stitching details.

"Heels," Kris said, shaking his head. "That's a fatal mistake. After an hour your back will ache. After two, you'll give yourself a headache, and in under four hours you'll be limping home barefoot."

Please, they were only three inches; Adam could walk from here to Newport Beach in them and not get blisters. "You're speaking from personal experience?" he teased.

Kris flushed again. "Took enough girlfriends to concerts and listened to them whine all night."

"Well, I won't be whining about my boots, I promise you."

"Honey, honey, _hi_!" a female voiced called.

Adam looked around and spotted a big-breasted blonde weaving through the food court tables, waving toward the back of the car. Jock 2 gave a besotted smile and waved back.

"Hey, Kris," Adam said, nonchalant.

"No, I don't want to be in an alliance with you," Kris said.

"Which one is which—the jocks."

"Oh." He pointed left, then right: "Steve and John."

"Great. Can I borrow your back?"

"No, why?"

Adam whistled sharply, getting Danielle's attention, and then reached a hand out to pat Kris's shoulder blades. "No reason. Just hold still." Using exaggerated lines, he traced letters on Kris's back and then pointed to the blonde leaning over the velvet ropes alongside her boyfriend.

Danielle and Brad gave him two thumbs up and put their heads together to scheme.

"You just traced John's name on my back," Kris accused.

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. Why?"

"If you were in my alliance, I'd tell you. But since you're _not_, I guess it's none of your business."

Kris glared at him. He really had the cutest pouting lips. The things Adam would do to those….

He wrenched his mind back on task. "You'll just have to see what happens."

"Whatever." Kris turned away and struck up a conversation with Office Worker on his other side.

A minute later, Danielle pushed her way up to the ropes by the back of the car and called, "John, baby, I made it!"

John, Steve, and John's girlfriend all turned their heads to look at her. Danielle had hiked her skirt up, knotted the bottom half of her t-shirt just below her breasts, and tousled her long curls, looking like she'd just crawled out of someone's bed. Quite possibly John's. And she'd left her underwear behind.

"Uh," John said. Steve elbowed him in the side and whispered something, staring at the outline of Danielle's nipples under her red cotton shirt.

"You should've woken me, baby," Danielle sighed, rubbing at what might have been last-night's makeup.

"John," his girlfriend demanded in a brittle-pleasant voice, "who is _she_?"

"Uh…I don't know?" John said, his expression confused…although the appreciative twice-over he gave Danielle wasn't lost on his girlfriend.

"Wait," Danielle said, noticing the other woman's proprietary attitude, "_who_ is _she_?"

"I'm Rachel. His _girlfriend_."

"John," Danielle said, an edge in her voice that didn't bode well, "what's going on?"

"Who the hell are you?" Rachel demanded.

"_I'm_ his girlfriend. Dani."

"You are not my…. Honey, she is not my girlfriend."

"_What_?" Danielle gasped. "Excuse me? You're _dumping_ me for this…this slut?"

"Hey!" Rachel said.

"No, I'm not!" John protested, then shook his head. "Wait. Who are you?"

"Don't you _dare _say that to me!" Danielle said, ratcheting the pitch of her voice one notch closer to hysteria.

Steve tugged at his friend's arm. "What the hell's going on?"

"I don't know," he groaned.

"Stay _focused_."

"If you're his girlfriend, then where was he last night?" Danielle challenged Rachel.

"He was getting a good night's sleep so he'd be up for _this_," she snapped back, and then turned suspicious eyes on her boyfriend. "Weren't you?"__

"Of course—"

Danielle's laugh was a cruel thing. "I don't think so. He was with _me_, getting a thirty-minute blow job for luck."

Rachel looked ready to kill somebody when she turned on John. "You son of a bitch!"

"She's a _genius_," Adam marveled.

"Are you doing this?" Kris whispered.

"C'mon, dude, what the fuck," Steve was pleading, trying to keep his friend's attention on the car.

"You're messing with the guy's life," Kris said.__

"That's a total lie, baby. I would never cheat on you—"

"Oh my god," Danielle shrieked, "why are you defending yourself to her! We've been together for months—you're _my_ boyfriend!"

"You lying sack of shit!" Rachel seethed.

"Baby, no, I don't know who this woman is. I've never seen her before in my life!"

An air horn pierced through the murmurs of the crowd, momentarily drowning out Rihanna's _Rude Boy_ and echoing painfully off the glass walls.

Everyone froze for a moment, contestants, girlfriends, and spectators alike, and then their gazes followed the contest host's path to the back of the car, where John had removed both hands and taken a step toward his girlfriend to placate her.

"You fucking _idiot_," Steve groaned.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Joey Martinez said into his microphone, all smiles. "We're only an hour into the Alderman Ford Touch-a-Thon Event, and we already have our first elimination!" Some of the shoppers cheered, and John's shoulders slumped. Joey consulted an index card before saying, "John, would you please step outside the ropes and follow me?"

"Sorry," John said to Steve.

His friend didn't even look at him. "Shut up."

"Good luck, bro." John patted Steve's arm and ducked under the velvet rope. His girlfriend was standing there in horror, her hands up over her pretty mouth. Danielle was long gone.

"And then there were eleven," Adam whispered smugly. Kris stared up at him, his eyes intense, like he was trying to figure him out. "What?"

"I'm trying to decide if you're this much of an asshole all the time."

"Oh come on," Adam laughed. "It's survival of the fittest, not a popularity contest. No one's voting for us, here."

"Yeah. You still seem like a smug asshole, though."

"I'm not," Adam protested, and tried not to feel hurt by the accusation. Kris had totally deflated his victory-high, and he couldn't help resenting him for that. He turned and checked on Brad, who was twirling Danielle's bra and grinning at him.

Adam mouthed a quick "Thank you" and jerked his thumb to indicate it was time for his friends to take off. He didn't need Brad and Danielle—and Danielle's role in John's elimination—linked back to him so soon.

"Wow," Waitress-Slash-Actress said, leaning against the headlight next to him. "That's just _awful_!"

"I know," Cheerleader agreed. "He must be crushed."

"No, I mean walking around looking like a Craigslist hookup. God, that's so tacky. I mean, she could've at least brushed her hair if she's that into the guy. And that _makeup_!"

Adam ducked his head and tried not to laugh.

"Oh my god, right?" Cheerleader agreed immediately. "And how cheap was that outfit! Where does she think she is, Silver Lake?"

Waitress-Slash-Actress tossed her head. "I hope security booted her ass for waving her tits around like that. Shameless."

Adam kept his mouth shut, not bringing up the fake breasts nearly falling out the front of Waitress-Slash-Actress's scoop-necked shirt while she leaned low over the hood, her ruffle-skirted ass sticking out for everyone to gawk at. When he looked up, he caught Soccer Mom rolling her eyes at the two young women.

"Hey, man. Hey. Hey," Adam called, getting the attention of Family Man at the back door. "What's your name?"

"Rubén," the guy said.

"Cool. Can you tell me what time it is?"

Rubén lifted his left hand off the roof to check his watch. "9:15."

"Thanks."

Cheerleader made a soft noise and Adam looked over to see her watching Rubén intently. He wondered if she'd noticed the same thing he had. He should keep an eye on her, just in case.

  
~

  
The next hour dragged on, shoppers cycling in and out of the food court to gawk at them, their hands filled with Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf cups and designer-label shopping bags. Around 10 a.m. the kitchens started prepping for lunch, and the air became an unpleasant mélange of smells from Charlie Kabob, Fatburger, and Manchu Wok.

The American Top 40 playlist kept going, cranking out frothy pop tunes Adam had largely ignored all summer. That Hannah Montana chick was singing now, something horribly auto-tuned and all shrill vowels, but it had a really good dance beat. This was as good a time as any to put his plan into effect.

Adam started bopping a little, humming and listening to see who wanted to join in. Sure enough, Cheerleader caught on and started singing the words, her face brightening as she bounced on her toes. Waiter-Slash-Actor's chiseled jaw didn't move, but he tapped his fingers on the roof across from Kris, trying not to smile. Adam started singing out loud, making rough approximations of the words like he knew what he was singing. After an encouraging smile from Cheerleader, he beamed, opened his mouth, and let out the most horrendous, high-pitched, nails-on-chalkboard notes he could.

In all fairness, it was a pretty close approximation of Hannah's actual performance of the chorus. It was also completely unbearable.

Cheerleader gaped at him with a look of dawning horror as she realized what she was trapped with for the next 24-36 hours. He caught Kris cringing next to him, one hand halfway to his ear to block out the sound before he returned it to the car. Adam decided to really sell it, dropping down low and slinking his way back up, thrashing his head like he was in a music video, all the while making sounds like a dying cat and doing his utmost to convince everyone that this was his favorite kind of music, that he loved American Top 40, and that he would be singing along to the mall's P.A. system _all day_.

By the time the song finished, his competitors were looking suitably appalled. Adam glowed and smiled at each of them, daring them to harsh his buzz.

The next song was an Eminem song, so he turned to Waitress-Slash-Actress during the rap and gushed, "Don't you _love_ singing?"

She glared at him and bit her tongue.

"I sing _all _the time—my friends call me their human jukebox. I figure I'll be singing a lot tonight to keep myself awake." He drummed his fingers with the beat and hummed along with Rihanna's chorus as he learned it. The next few hours were going to be fun; he anticipated at least three contestants bailing just to get away from him.

When the next song started, he was distracted by a conversation with Soccer Mom, who had apparently deigned to speak to him in order to stop the singing. Adam was warming to an overdramatic retelling of his pre-dawn bus ride to the mall that morning when he noticed the light tenor voice coming from the guy on his right.

Adam dropped his conversation mid-sentence to listen to Kris singing along to the Michael Bublé song. The guy wasn't doing anything flashy or overly loud, just singing to himself. And if Adam had really been committed to his act, he should have been a dick and chimed in, butchered the song for Kris, but that was the last thing he found himself wanting to do. Because Kris was _good_—like, _really_ good—syrupy-smooth voice sliding like warm honey over the melody, making Adam want to stand there and listen all day.

Office Worker, Rubén, and Actor-Slash-Waiter were enjoying it, too, smiling approvingly at Kris. Because the guy was singing better than Adam had just done. So they logically thought Kris was _better_ than Adam. And the sudden realization that he was getting shown up by some pleasant-voiced nobody pressed every fucking button Adam had.

He harnessed his professional indignation and concentrated on the song, learning the surprisingly modest melody so he could join in. Kris's voice grew stronger, more joyful on the bridge, and Adam's blood steamed as he was forced to wait for the last chorus to set things right. As soon as the song was back on familiar ground, Adam took a deep breath and sang for real; he sang the hell out of that silly little song, louder than Kris, prettier too, with over-the-top emoting and glory notes, and even a little upper-octave scat when the chorus faded into the instrumental outro.

Really, it was a ridiculously easy song.

He stopped singing when he heard the applause, opening his eyes to see whose hands had come off the car. But it was coming from some of the spectators hanging around the food court, hooting and clapping for him. He grinned and nodded to his fans, then turned to take in the adulation of his fellow contestants…who weren't even paying attention to him anymore.

Adam blinked and mentally kicked himself in the ass. He'd let his pride get the better of him and had obliterated his strategy to be the tone-deaf menace everyone hated. Crap. Thank god Brad wasn't here to witness it, or he would've laughed his ass off and tortured Adam with I-told-you-so's for weeks.

Kris was the only competitor looking at him now, rich brown eyes narrowed.

"What?" Adam sighed, resigned to his own failure.

"More mind games," Kris said.

Adam rubbed some imaginary dirt off his sleeve.

"You actually had me going for a few minutes with that whole worst-singer-on-Earth act. And then you pull _that_ out…." He laughed, unintentionally—or perhaps not—taunting him. "I thought you said you were _good_ at playing people."

"I am!"

"So you _didn't_ want us thinking you were gonna make our eardrums bleed all day?"

He bit his lip, unwilling to admit that Kris was right.

Kris settled back on his heels in a way that hinted he very badly wanted to cross his arms. "Uh huh. Well thanks for confirming how much of a manipulative ass you are."

"You could take it as a compliment, you know," Adam growled, trying to cut off Kris's stinging rebuke. "You have a great voice. Seriously."

Caught off guard, Kris blushed just a little. His posture relaxed and he muttered, "Whatever."

"No, you really do. I don't go around instigating sing-offs with just anyone."

Kris quirked a half-smile at him. "I don't know. That kinda seemed like your _thing_."

Adam grinned, "I may have engaged in a few karaoke throw-downs, but they totally deserved it."

"And somehow _I_ deserved to get ten-upped by a fucking professional?"

"Not so professional. I mean, I make a living, but I don't have a record deal or anything."

Kris gave a thoughtful frown, and Adam started to dread the inevitable, humiliating question: 'Why not?' But the frown turned into a snort, "Then maybe you shouldn't've knocked John out so soon. You _suck_ at networking."

Adam rolled his eyes and leaned over to bump Kris's shoulder, determined to keep their unofficial truce going. "So how 'bout you tell me what you're doing with _your_ voice? You got a band or something?"

"No, nothing," Kris denied.

Adam caught the shifty eyes, so he pressed a little, "Really? You're not singing anywhere in Los Angeles?"

"Nah."

"Not trying to get signed? Angling for an internship at one of the labels, maybe?"

"_No_," he insisted, but he was definitely lying.

Adam eased up for the time being. "Okay, okay. So what's your day job?"

"I...sell guitars."

"Like, door-to-door?" he teased.

"No! In a store. A little mom and pop store in Glendale."

"Hmm. But you're not from here."

"Well, duh. I'm…." Kris stopped talking and just looked at him.

"What?" Adam asked. He seemed to say that a lot around Kris. Of course, Kris seemed to like staring at him a lot.

Kris shook his head. "Just…wondering what you're up to."

"Oh, come on, not everything I do is evil," Adam huffed.

"How do I know that?"

"You have so little faith in people?"

"I've got lots of faith. Just not in guys who come right out and say, 'I didn't come on this show to make friends.'" He gave a little finger snap and 'oh no you di'int' attitude that rivaled Brad's best queen, and Adam cracked up.

"Oh shit, you are seriously the most precious thing ever. Are you sure you're straight?"

Kris raised his eyebrows. "Pretty sure," he drawled.

  
~

  
Adam was enduring an unsolicited makeup consultation from Waitress-Slash-Actress-Slash-Wannabe-Bobbi-Brown-Model when Kris whispered, "Son of a bitch."

Adam thanked her for the tips on how to improve his current 'day look' of eyeliner, mascara, and concealer, and extricated himself as politely as possible to check on his neighbor.

Kris was fixated on a conversation at the back of the car, where Jock-Agent Steve was talking to Prepster. Adam could recognize the body language of bullying a mile away: the devastating taunts in the lift of Steve's chin; the misery in Prepster's ducked head and clenched fists. He felt an uncomfortable slide in his stomach as he flashed back to his own days in high school, the physical and emotional jabs, and the bruises they'd left. Thank god it was at the other end of the car.

Rubén was trying to intervene, putting a hand out in front of Prepster and saying to Steve, "Hey, man, don't use language like that," but the damage had already been done.

Adam gasped as Prepster lashed out, swinging wildly at Steve, his punch driving into the agent's shoulder and moving them both away from the car.

"Shit," Kris said, louder, and Adam impulsively grabbed Kris's left wrist and pinned it to the windshield before he could let go of the car. Kris's head whipped around to look up at him, but Adam kept his focus on the fight.

"Is that all you got?" Steve was egging him on, laughing at him. "Come on, pussy."

Prepster grunted and swung again, two more punches that barely touched his tormentor as Steve ducked behind Grandma, sidling along the velvet ropes.

The air horn blast silenced the bustling food court and stopped the fight. Joey marched up to the ropes with a mall security guard and shouted into his microphone, "Woah, woah, hey! Break it up, guys! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a disqualification at the back of the car. Morgan, Morgan, what's going on, buddy?" The host put his arm around Prepster's shoulders, as much to offer comfort as to prevent any further attacks.

Morgan's fists didn't unclench. He didn't even look sorry when he looked back at the car he'd just lost. "That asshole was asking for it," he said into the mic.

"Woah, _language_, okay? This is a family-friendly venue, man. And I'm sorry, but you threw the first punch. You know the rules."

"Fuck it, it was worth it," Morgan insisted.

"_Ohh-kay_!" Joey cut him off, pulling the microphone away as soon as Morgan uttered the swear word. "Ladies and gentlemen, only 10 contestants remain in the Alderman Ford Touch-a-Thon Event to win a 2011 Ford Fusion Hybrid! I hope you're having a great shopping experience in the new Santa Monica Place. Let's keep this Grand Reopening Celebration going! Keep stopping by throughout the day to see how our contestants are holding up in this battle of physical endurance and will. And sign up for a free test-drive of the brand new 2011 Fusion Hybrid this week at Alderman Ford, the home of quality American craftsmanship."

The host snapped his fingers angrily and gestured for Steve to resume his position on the trunk. And then he shoved Morgan toward the waiting security guard, who took the young guy's arm as soon as he stepped outside the ropes.

"Fuck," Adam said. "What'd that asshole call him?"

Kris's body was rigid next to him. "Things I'm not gonna repeat," he said, voice flat. And then he shook Adam's hand off his wrist. "I thought you only cared about winning," he said, eyes and mood compellingly dark as he looked up at him.

Adam's mouth twisted in a complicated smile. "I'm still hoping you'll turn to the Dark Side. Besides, I wasn't about to let that asswipe eliminate _two_ of you."

"He doesn't deserve to win," Kris said.

Adam couldn't agree more. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

"No," Kris said firmly. "I'll take care of him."

Adam thought about protesting, but decided to let it go.

  
~

  
At 11:50 the air horn sounded again, this time signaling the first 10-minute break. Nobody moved, at least not until Joey ducked under the rope and announced to the crowd that the contestants were officially free to leave the vehicle until noon. With sighs of relief, all 10 contestants made their way to the bathrooms, stretching and twisting to ease aching back muscles.

When he got out of the restroom, Adam spotted Kris waving him over to a small table near the Sushi Itto counter. Adam sank into the empty chair gratefully, stifling complaints of sore feet.

"So, I was thinking," Kris said, twisting the complementary bottle of water bearing Alderman Ford's label.

"Yeah?"

"I've reconsidered your alliance idea; it might be a good idea to— If we each look out for each other, maybe."

Adam's eyebrows arched, but he wasn't about to say anything to make Kris regret his decision. "And when everyone else is gone?" he said, just to be sure they understood the deal.

"May the best man win," Kris shrugged.

"Okay then," Adam said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Let's talk strategy."

  
~

  
Kris didn't seem convinced of Adam's grand strategy. He seemed frankly unimpressed.

"_Underwhelmed_," Kris repeated under his breath, in case Adam had missed the three times he'd said it on their walk back to the car.

Adam smiled like he hadn't heard and traced the contours of the hood with his fingers. "So what were you saying about the new water-resistant line?" he prompted Waitress-Slash-Actress Jasmine.

"Oh, the gel eyeliners are _fabulous_—"

Joey got out his microphone again and paraded himself around the car, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Alderman Ford Touch-a-Thon Event for this 2011 Ford Fusion Hybrid has officially resumed. I'm Joey Martinez, host of HGN's new show, _Bid It to Win It!_"

A few people in the food court offered some disinterested applause.

Joey cleared his throat and pressed on with the fake enthusiasm of a cable television host. "A few reminders for our contestants: At least one hand must be touching the vehicle at all times. You must stay in your assigned place. No kneeling, no sitting, no lying down. No threats of any kind against your fellow competitors will be tolerated. And your next refreshment break is in four hours. Good luck, everybody."

He fired off the air horn and Soccer Mom flinched reflexively.

While Jasmine got back into the important subject of ultra-fine applicator brushes and the new all-day, long-lasting formula, Adam kept half an ear on Kris, making sure he was doing his part to get to know his neighbors. Kris was having a hard time engaging middle-aged Office Worker on his other side; she seemed to be playing the aloof and self-contained angle, convinced no one could get to her if she kept to herself.

"Hey, Pops, what time is it?" Cheerleader called.

Adam looked up to smile at Rubén—he hadn't had a chance to thank him for trying to stop the bullying earlier.

And he wouldn't get the chance later, either. Because Rubén's right hand was busy scratching his armpit, and when he lifted his left to check his watch, the air horn went off again.

"12:15—" he got out, before he realized that the siren was for him, that both of his hands were in the air, and that Cheerleader was pumping her fist and crowing, "Yes!"

His face crumpled, and Waiter-Slash-Actor put his hand on Rubén's shoulder and said something Adam couldn't hear. Rubén nodded and shook Waiter-Slash-Actor's hand, but didn't stick around to wait for Joey's incredulous announcement that a _third_ contestant had just been eliminated, and barely into the second four-hour period.

"She's gonna be a problem," Kris said softly, nervously eyeing the unmasked predators at the front and back of the car.

"No," Adam reassured him. "She just _thinks_ she is."

Soccer Mom and Jasmine were both giving Cheerleader the stink-eye. Adam ignored the bad vibes and asked the front half of the car, "Who here's ever been to SusieCakes? I'm gonna state for the record that they make the best cupcakes in L.A."

It only took a few minutes to get Soccer Mom and Cheerleader back on friendly terms, once they started talking about the foods Soccer Mom's pre-teen daughter would and wouldn't eat, and what were the signs of an eating disorder—a conversation that Jasmine seemed very passionate about, too. Adam turned his attention back to Kris, who was playing with the windshield wiper blade.

"Hey. Are any of your band mates gonna show up today?"

Kris shook his head and looked around, his eyes bright with the light from the windows. "Nah, I didn't tell 'em about it."

"So they've got no clue you're gonna win a new car? You're just gonna show up at your next rehearsal and be all, 'what, this old thing?'"

He laughed a little. "I hadn't thought about it. But, yeah, that's kinda my style. Low key, you know?"

"Hmm," Adam agreed, and then said casually, "I thought you said you weren't in a band."

Kris's face froze for a long moment before he admitted, "I did say that."

"And that was a lie."

"…yeah."

"You thought I was gonna use that against you?" He didn't give Kris a chance to answer. "We're in an alliance now. You're _my guy_, okay? I promised: you and me 'til the end. I'm not gonna use your personal stuff against you."

"It's not that. I just…my stuff isn't…." He sighed. "I can't do what you do."

"What's that mean?"

"Your voice is—well, _you know_ how good it is. And we're—we're not professional. We all have day jobs, and we play a few bars a month, and we bust our asses trying to get more gigs. I didn't want you…."

Yeah, Adam knew what he meant. He still got that from some of his newer friends; they wouldn't invite him—or even tell him about—their performances, convinced Adam would be a bitch and rip apart what they loved most. No matter how much he denied it, he couldn't make them believe that he had a single, non-judgmental bone in his body. So he didn't bother denying it to Kris. "I would _love_ to come to one of your shows," Adam said instead. "I mean it. I wasn't kidding before. You're _really good_. I'd love to watch you perform."

Kris frowned with what Adam took as guarded hope.

"Don't look at me like that," Adam insisted. "The plan doesn't work unless you trust me."

"Yeah," Kris said, shaking his head a little. "But when you start flirting like that, I start wondering what you're gonna ask me to do next."

Adam snorted and ruffled Kris's soft, brown hair. The spiky tips crunched with the barest trace of styling product, and Adam swallowed the urge to get close enough to find out what brand it smelled like. "You wish," he teased back, keeping it light. "So how's it goin' with Office Worker over there?"

"Not great. Her name's Rose, she works in the tax assessor's office, and she doesn't like getting to know new people."

"Huh. Okay. Switch it up a bit." Adam jerked his chin toward Waiter-Slash-Actor, who had been determinedly ignoring Steve's attempts at conversation ever since Steve revealed his true colors. That left Waiter-Slash-Actor isolated between empty space and the pack of women at the front.

Kris sized him up and said, "What do you think, compliment his Ashton Kutcher looks?"

"No way. He wants to be unique. Look how much work went into choosing those necklaces!"

Kris looked…but at the chains around _Adam's_ neck.

"Shut up," Adam ordered, corners of his mouth curving up.

"I'm just saying…."

"And I'm not listening."

"…if the necklace fits…."

"You want me to pinch your ass in front of everybody? 'Cause I'll do it, if you don't shut that pretty mouth of yours."

Kris blushed and missed a beat before straightening his shoulders and boasting, "Prettier than yours." Kris turned his face away and said, "Hey, man, how's it goin'?" to Waiter-Slash-Actor before Adam could react.

Well, well, Adam thought to himself, delighted with his sass. Kris was getting more interesting every minute.

Adam's strategy was deceptively simple: keep everyone relaxed and off-guard for the next few hours. It wouldn't be easy to pull off—the contestants were as twitchy as a herd of gazelle alert to the lions in their midst. Adam and Kris had to lay low, let everybody cool down, try to distract them from the threat. And if they could earn some trust before nightfall, when killer fatigue would become a serious distraction….

Between the two of them, they could keep an eye on everyone. The ladies at the front had their moments of bitchiness, but were happier to pass the time chatting. Waiter-Slash-Actor Tyler was opening up to Kris, looking relieved to have a guy he could talk to, and Steve had isolated himself at the back of the car with silent-Rose and Grandma.

Adam sent another glance toward the back of the car to check how that end was holding up. Grandma wasn't looking too good. Adam leaned way forward so he could see past Kris and Rose, get a better look at the 70-year-old. Her eyes were closed, her arms shaking slightly. He couldn't see her hands, but he could guess the tremors were worse there. She was pale—she'd been pale all morning—but her skin had gotten shiny in a way that Adam didn't like.

"Hey, Tyler," Adam said, butting into Kris's conversation. "Hey. Does she look okay to you?" He jerked his head and Tyler's eyes drifted past Rose and zeroed in on Grandma.

"Oh. No, she really kinda doesn't." There was genuine concern on Tyler's face, as well as flickers of something else: suspicion and excitement warring with human decency.

Kris said something to Rose, who leaned back so Kris could put a hand on Grandma's arm. "Ma'am," he said quietly. "Are you all right?"

Grandma's eyes blinked open and slid slow and glazed up toward Kris's face. "Huh?" she said, voice just a breath. There was no sign of understanding or recognition on her face.

"Shit," Tyler said nervously. "Should we do something about her?"

Kris was talking to Grandma in a patient, soothing tone that tugged at Adam's heart until he blocked it out. This was a physically demanding competition. He'd known since sign-in that Grandma wouldn't make it to the end.

"I mean," Tyler was saying, starting to convince himself, "we can't just let her keep standing here 'til she passes out. She'll get hurt."

"I think you're right," Adam nodded, glad to have someone else assume responsibility for the meddling that was about to happen. "You should talk to the dealership people."

"Yeah. Yeah, I should," Tyler said, screwing up his lips in a satisfied grimace. "I will."

"Okay, yeah." Adam glanced around at the three dealership staff members stationed outside the ropes and nodded toward one. "I think the girl's name is Sheila."

"Thanks. Hey, Sheila," Tyler called, waving an arm to get the Alderman Ford rep's attention.

Sheila left her spotter's position and came up to listen to Tyler. Adam tugged Kris's shoulder to get him to disengage, leave Grandma to the people in charge.

"She hasn't said a word all morning," Kris said sadly, his gaze darting back as Sheila leaned over the car and tried to engage 'Evelyn.' "I should've noticed."

Adam just shook his head and watched Sheila flag down mall security. This time, there was no air horn. EMT's brought a gurney upstairs, and Sheila led Evelyn away from the car, and then she was gone. Tyler didn't look happy about it. Nobody did. The ladies were whispering, united in their tsks and sighs over Evelyn's age and obvious frailty.

"This sucks. How come nobody noticed…." Kris trailed off, still determined to blame himself.

Adam let him be.

  
~

  
At 3:55, he tracked Kris down at one of the food court tables on the outdoor dining deck. Adam leaned all the way back in his chair, arms over his head and cracking his spine as he absorbed the sunlight and faint ocean breeze.

"Hey, Adam."

"Yeah?"

"How long d'you think this thing's really gonna go?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

Adam opened his eyes, blinking against the bright blue sky, and grinned. "On how long it takes before you admit you can't beat me."

Kris snorted and kicked his ankle under the table. "Ass. Hurry up and eat your power bar. We gotta be back in there in three minutes."

Unsurprisingly, the first person to start shit in the third period was Cheerleader. Adam might not have noticed it if she'd started gradually, but little Laura started talking about how tired she was and whining about her feet, legs, and back all at once. He watched with amusement as she tried to get Jasmine and Cynthia to commiserate with her. Jasmine kept a determinedly upbeat attitude even though Adam could tell she was hurting, and Soccer Mom just seemed to tune out the juvenile whining. She obviously had years of practice.

It took Laura almost half an hour to give up on the women and target Adam. He'd maybe been baiting her, standing at the car with his head down for long stretches, shifting like his back hurt, even propping an elbow on the hood to support his chin. It wasn't a posture he wanted to hold for any length of time, so he was relieved when she yawned, "Ahh-dumm," plaintively.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"This sucks."

"Uh huh," he yawned right back.

Kris nudged him with his hip, whispered, "What's wrong with you?"

Adam ignored him. "I'm so _bored_," he confided in Laura. "Why'd I decide to do this, again?"

She grimaced prettily. "I know, right? I should be at the beach with my boyfriend right now. You should, too."

Adam smiled. "Yeah." He straightened up and winced, letting his real discomfort show. "A whole weekend of this?"

"Kill me now," Laura moaned.

"My feet are _killing_ me."

"Mine, too. Like, my toes are numb, and my arches are cramping something fierce. What I wouldn't give for a massage."

"Oh, girl, you're singing my song. My boyfriend's got magic fingers. He can make me orgasm just from—"

Cynthia cleared her throat disapprovingly.

Adam stopped short. "Sorry. Um, forget it." Kris was quiet next to him, listening and trying to figure his game out.

Laura kept drilling at him. "It's so nice outside. All these breaks are like torture, a little taste of freedom and then 'back to the car!'"

"Yeah, I'm kinda starting to hate this thing, you know?" He glared at the car like it was his enemy, instead of the end to his transportation nightmares.

"Seriously. God, I never should've worn these shoes."

"Ugh, me, too."

"What're you wearing?" she asked, and Adam hid his smile.

"My favorite boots. They're super-fabulous, but my friend was right. Heels were the worst possible plan."

"Heels?" she gasped. "Get out. Are you crazy?"

Adam nodded miserably.

"Can I see? I mean, can you…."

"Oh, totally. Hold on." He shoved Kris's hand off the driver's side mirror so he had a better handhold for turning sideways and kicking a leg up onto the hood. His boot landed with a loud bang on the red hood and Kris hissed behind him. Adam felt a hand against his lower back, stealthily steadying him, and smiled proudly. "Check these babies out."

"Oh, those are _beautiful_," Laura gushed, as fakely flattering as she'd been about Jasmine's makeup tips earlier. "I love the rhinestones."

"Yeah," he said, bending over and stroking his fingers up the zipper seam. "When I wear these I feel like a million bucks. But now I need a million bucks of chiropracty."

"That's terrible," she said.

"How 'bout you? What've you got on?"

"Skechers," she shrugged, but did an impressive gymnastic high-kick, shin almost touching her face before she pivoted and lowered her foot gracefully to the top of the car, leg stretched out over half the hood.

Adam reached out and tweaked the toe of her baby-blue and yellow striped sneaker. "Oh my gosh," he giggled. "Are you kidding me?"

"They're my favorite; I wear them _everywhere_."

This was going to be way too easy. Adam took a deep breath and shut down Laura's mutual-admiration party with a single look. "You've actually worn these in public before? Oh, honey," he shook his head, pitying.

"Yeah, why?"

"These just _scream_ kindergarten. I mean, the colors are sweet, really. For a 6-year-old."

"No, they're not. They're cool!"

"Ugh, no! It's like those jeans you're wearing," he sneered at the acid-washed, pegged denim in front of him. "They've got 'virgin' stamped all over them."

"What?" she yelped, face turning red. "They do not!"

"Please, sugar. If you wore those out in WeHo we'd laugh you back to the Valley faster than a cheerleader going down on the quarterback. Tyler, you're a heterosexual male. Would you ever date a grown woman wearing jeans and shoes like these?"

"Oh," Laura sputtered, pulling her leg back to get away from Adam's vicious critique. But the rubber sole of her sneaker skidded across the glossy hood, throwing her off balance, and Laura staggered, hand reaching out to clutch Jasmine's shoulder.

The air horn sounded with satisfying finality, and Laura gaped at Adam's innocent, concerned expression before she spun around, marching away from the car muttering curses under her breath.

Tyler quirked a grin at Adam. "Honestly, _yeah_," he answered belatedly. "Chick was hot, man. And flexible. Who cares what she wears?"

"_Thank_ you," Jasmine muttered, adjusting the fall of her shirt sleeve. "I thought she'd never shut up."

Cynthia's glare was a dangerously perceptive thing.

Adam nudged Kris with his elbow and Kris braced himself, let Adam lean against him as he pulled his booted foot off the car, Adam's moves more careful and fluid than Laura's. Kris's fingers lingered, dragged slowly across the waistband of Adam's jeans before he took his hand away.

  
~

  
The sun was shimmering low over the ocean, bathing the whole food court in blinding orange light as Adam and Kris leaned on the roof of the car. There was a near-collision between diners at the glass doors leading to the outside tables, and another near-miss in front of the trash cans, and Adam murmured, "They maybe should've tinted those windows."

"But then they'd lose this neat Jerry Bruckheimer lighting."

Adam snickered. "How long've you been in Los Angeles? You're already speaking like a native."

"About three years. There wasn't anything going on in Arkansas," he shrugged. "I figured, why not give L.A. a chance to impress me."

"And were you impressed?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Well, maybe you're trying to win a set of wheels so you can get back where you came from."

Kris settled his chin over his fingers and sighed. "No. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Aren't you supposed to say 'I ain't goin' nowhere?'" Adam teased in a terrible imitation of a Southern hick.

"Oh, right. You're right. Ah'm s'posed to talk like I ain't had me no propuh education."

"Edu-_muh_-cation," Adam corrected, entranced by Kris's thicker, exaggerated drawl. He should _not_ be encouraging this—Kris's light accent was already too appealing. And the heavier twang on a pretty twink…it was totally his kryptonite.

"Show 'nuff," Kris nodded his head a little. "We ain't gots no edumuhcation where ah'm from."

Adam noticed a group of young guys walking through the food court, laughing loudly and disturbing the dinner crowd, and he whispered to Kris, "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Kris looked over at the kids and wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"What's so funny?" Adam asked Jasmine, drawing her attention to the kids cracking up as they walked past the car.

"I don't know," she said.

"They were pointing at us just a second ago," he said, pleased to see the light of paranoia come on in her eyes.

Jasmine straightened up, made sure her breasts were still inside her shirt and started touching her weave nervously. "At us?"

"Yeah. Wait…." Adam leaned to his left, like he was looking behind her, and then gasped, "Oh no, honey, your skirt's all caught up in your panties!"

"What?" she gasped in horror, hands flying back to tug her skirt down. "Wait—" she said, realizing too late that her skirt was fine. That she'd just been set up. "You asshole!" she wailed, just before the air horn blasted.

Once Jasmine had been escorted away, Adam laid himself out across the windshield again, propped up on an elbow, and said, casual, "Where were we?" to Kris.

Kris was staring at him in awe. "Um," he said. "I'm glad you're on my side."

Adam smiled.

"For now," Kris added hastily.

"For now," Adam agreed. "So, when are you gonna take care of Steve? 'Cause I've got some ideas for him if you—"

Kris looked at the agent still standing at the trunk, seeming pleased with Jasmine's elimination. "No, I've got him. I'm just…waiting 'til the right moment."

"All right. How about Tyler?"

"What about him?"

Adam eyed the good-looking guy chatting with Cynthia directly across the car from them. "You tell me. What's his deal?"

"He just got his SAG card, he's between auditions, and he's trying to win this car to impress his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Aww, disappointed?" Kris smirked.

"No, no. Not my type. But I wouldn't've been surprised if it'd been a boyfriend."

Kris studied Tyler closely. "What, is your bat-gaydar pinging or something?"

Adam shrugged. "Nah. But statistically speaking, actors in L.A. are almost never 100% straight."

Kris snorted. "Wow, talk about a gross generalization."

"No, it's like…. There's a lot of competition for roles, and not all the casting directors are women. It's the economics of flirting, that's all."

"So if he flirts with guys, he can't be straight?"

"I didn't say _that_. Just…he's not as straight as _you_."

"Oh, 'cause I'm 100% straight."

Something about Kris's amused tone got Adam's undivided attention. "What?"

"Nothing," he said innocently.

"That was sarcasm. You just said you were straight _sarcastically_."

"I thought _you_ were the one saying I was straight."

"Wait." Adam stood up to his full height, looking down at Kris slumped across the roof. "Are you fucking with my head?"

"Why would I do that?" Kris rolled his head over so he could blink up at him. "You're my alliance partner."

"Yeah. But I'm starting to think you might be a sneaky little fucker."

Kris smiled, showing all his teeth. "Really? Awesome!"

"Now tell me why you're yanking my chain."

He stood up to face Adam. "You're the one making all these assumptions about people's sexuality…."

"And you got offended," Adam guessed.

"Well, if you're gonna talk about me, I'd kinda prefer you get it right."

Adam opened his mouth to toss off a casual comeback, and then realized he had none. "I'm not…. Wow."

"You doin' okay, there?" Kris was having way too much fun at his expense.

"Okay then," Adam scowled. "Set me straight." Kris snickered again and Adam rolled his eyes. "Fuck off. You're not gay," he said with complete conviction. "You said 'girlfriends.'"

Kris nodded. "But I'm not totally straight, either."

"Tell you what. Since it feels like you're trying to teach me some kind of lesson here, why don't _you_ tell me how you define your sexuality? That way I'll stop getting it wrong."

Kris actually had the gall to blush when the question was put to him. "Um. I'm straight…."

"Uh huh," Adam nodded, determined to wait him out.

"But…I've made out with a few guys."

"In what state of sobriety?" Adam asked, suddenly guessing where this was going.

"I get kinda...affectionate when I'm drunk," Kris admitted. "And my band mates are pretty good-looking."

"So you're, like, a three-beer queer?"

He blushed even harder. "Sometimes only two beers?"

Adam laughed and threw an arm around Kris's shoulders, dragging him into a friendly headlock. "Aww, the straight-boy likes boy-lips," he cooed.

"Hey," Kris tried to shove him off. "No judging!"

"I'm not judging," Adam said indignantly, letting him go. "I think it's _adorable_. But with that build up, I thought you were gonna tell me you'd been sucking cock since the 9th grade."

Kris bit his lip and looked at his feet, and Adam actually gasped like an old maid.

"Kris! You do not suck cock!"

Kris looked up, laughter dancing in his wicked brown eyes. "Well, not with _that_ attitude I don't."

"Excuse me," Cynthia said firmly. They looked over to see Cynthia and Tyler staring at them, scandalized. "This is _mixed company_."

Adam couldn't help it; he giggled. Kris looked at him and burst out laughing while their competitors glared at them.

  
~

  
The food court stopped serving food at 9:30, and at 10:00 mall security started asking the few shoppers still in the food court to leave.

Once the last spectators were gone, Joey Martinez waved to all of them on his way out the door, "G'night, guys. Uh, good luck! Hang in there! I'll see you all tomorrow, hopefully."

And then a new Alderman Ford rep slid under the velvet rope and put his hands on the car where Laura the cheerleader had stood. "Hey, guys," he said with a sympathetic tone, "how's everybody holding up?"

"Eh," Tyler said. That sufficed for everybody else.

"Okay, look," the new guy said, "I'm Mitch; I'm the VP at Alderman's. And I'm here to babysit you guys tonight. And I mean babysit. I'm not here to eliminate anybody. We're counting on you guys keeping this thing going until closing time tomorrow. Or at least the lunch rush. Do you think you can do that?"

Six pairs of eyes blinked at him.

"Now, I don't know what's been going on all day, but we're down to the six of you, and that's not looking too good. So we're gonna give you some extra support tonight. Okay? No more air horns, lots of coffee. All the same rules are still gonna apply—we're still gonna cut you if you screw up—but if you need somebody to talk to, you let Jenny or me know, okay? If you're not feeling well, we can try to perk you up. Maybe we even let you make a phone call." He seemed to have second thoughts about that one. "Er…_maybe_." He drummed his fingers on the hood. "So what do you all think?"

"Sounds great, Mitch," Steve said enthusiastically.

Mitch clapped his hands together. "All right! That's what I like to hear! Let's stay awake, and keep this thing running for another 24 hours! You've got another hour and 35 minutes to the next break. Keep your minds and your hands on the car, people!"

"This is weird," Kris said as soon as Mitch had walked away.

"This is _awesome_," Adam said.

"You think?"

"Oh yeah. This next elimination's gonna be all you."

"What?"

Adam dropped his head on Kris's shoulder like he was exhausted, and whispered, "Start talking to Rose again. Talk about coffee. For the next hour and a half, nothing but coffee. Make her obsessed."

Kris pushed Adam's head away, feigning annoyance. "Why?" he asked under his breath.

"Trust me," Adam smiled.

Kris's eyes flickered up to his with a warmth he hadn't seen in them before. "Mmhm," he said, and got to work.

The spacious food court took on a totally different feel at night. The outdoor dining lights shut off once there were officially no more customers in the mall. That left just Mitch and Jenny manning the long Alderman Ford table and the six of them around the car. Kris was talking more _at_ Rose than with her, babbling about his favorite kinds of coffee. Cynthia and Tyler were done dissecting _Inception_ and stood in stony silence, nothing left in common. And the radio kept pumping pop music…until it suddenly cut out.

Adam caught Tyler's wide eyes at the sudden, unwelcome silence. Kris's monologue trailed off and all six of them shared wary looks. A night without music would be a death sentence.

Adam turned his head to look for Mitch and Jenny, saw Mitch already standing up and punching angrily at his phone. His angry tirade echoed through the empty space.

"Hi? Yeah, this is Mitch with Alderman Ford, we're set up in the food court? Yeah, we have a permit to— Look, the music just turned off. What did you guys— How can it be your routine, when this is opening-fucking-day? We have a permit for 48 hours, and we need the music the whole time— No, I'm not kidding— Then you call her and get her to approve— Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do— Oh yeah, why didn't I think of that? Gee, maybe because you _closed_ RadioShack at 10— This is horseshit. No, I want her to _call me_— Shit!"

He hung up the phone and glared at the room at large before focusing on his six prisoners. "Uh, hey guys. Sorry 'bout that. We're gonna get the music up again in a few minutes, don't worry." He gave them a thumbs up and started a quiet conference with Jenny that involved a lot of flailing hands.

"We're boned," Tyler sighed.

Cynthia's hands flexed on the hood. Adam could practically hear her teeth gnashing.

Several minutes later, two security guards walked into the food court, gawked at the contestants around the car, and headed over to talk to Mitch at the dealership table. There was more hand-waving, Mitch's voice was getting pretty loud, and then Kris called, "Hey, Jenny?"

"What's the matter?" Adam hissed. Shit, if his alliance partner was in trouble he should've said something.

Jenny ducked away from the angry men and leaned in close to Kris. "Everything okay, honey?" she asked, her tone weirdly condescending for a twenty-something.

"This car comes with an iPod input jack, right? And it's got a fully-charged battery?"

"Yeah?" she guessed, looking unsure.

"Yeah," Kris said firmly, pointing to the dealer's specs under Rose's elbow. "So I have an iPod in my backpack over there. We can roll down the windows and play music on the car's stereo…."

"_Oh_!" she gasped. She squeezed Kris's arm and said, "I'll be right back," ducking under the ropes and running to intercede in Mitch's battle with security.

"I love you, man," Steve said.

Kris nodded and smiled. "Yeah, cool, man."

"You're my _favorite_ alliance partner," Adam whispered.

"Aww, thanks. You, too."

Jenny brought Kris's backpack, and Mitch brought over the keys, and the security guys took a seat at a table in the corner, kicking up their heels to watch while Jenny said, "Listen up. I'm giving Kris, here, permission to let go of the car for a few minutes so he can set up the music. This does not apply to the rest of you. You all better keep touching this car. I'll be watching you."

"Yes, ma'am," Tyler said, giving her a charming smile.

She did a double-take, as though finally noticing Tyler's insanely perfect cheekbones and green eyes, but shook it off. "Okay. Kris, you can let go now."

Kris took a step away from the car with a relieved sigh, shaking his hands out and doing a few windmills. Jenny unlocked the driver's door and held it open, ushering Kris inside and handing him his backpack.

"I think the adapter's in the glove box. Or maybe in the sunglasses holder," Mitch said.

Adam watched Kris move around the inside of the car through the front windshield, seeing Kris's face light up as he explored each hidden panel and button. "Hey, you," he said, knocking on the glass to get Kris's attention.

Kris looked up, beaming.

"Don't get too comfortable in there," Adam said, a threat in his voice.

Kris stuck his hand out the door and gave him the finger.

Adam grinned and started tapping a 9|8 dance rhythm on the windshield to entertain himself.

When Kris was done, he had The Beatles' _Come Together_ pumping out the lowered windows and his iPod dangling out the driver's side window where he could control it. "Those are some pretty sweet speakers," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah," Kris said. "I'm totally gonna love this when I'm driving up the PCH with the windows down tomorrow."

"Hey, it ain't your car yet," Adam reminded him.

"_Yet_," Kris agreed, singing through his smile.

Fuck Tyler's silver screen prettiness—Adam would give up one of his regular paying gigs to wake up to Kris's ridiculously hot stubble and soulful voice every morning. He had a passing worry that he was straying into Stockholm Syndrome territory, but decided to ignore that concern when Kris flubbed some lyrics and laughed unselfconsciously.

"Yo, Kris, what you got on that thing?" Steve asked, and Kris started paying attention to his sworn enemy.

Adam let Kris's attention go with one final reminder in his ear: "Don't forget about the coffee."

  
~

  
The security guards escorted Jenny back into the food court at a quarter to midnight, the three of them bearing Brew House carry-out coffee boxes. The smell turned heads, and Adam watched Rose to gauge her reaction. The sight of that much coffee had a Pavlovian effect; Rose started fidgeting, her fingers going shaky and lips pinching thin as she tracked its movement.

"Five more minutes, you guys," Kris announced, reading the time off his iPod.

"That smells amazing," Rose said.

"Thank god," Kris agreed. "If I don't get at least three cups I'm gonna pass out soon."

"Yeah," she agreed, mesmerized by the beverage station they were setting up.

When Jenny called to them, "Break time, everybody! Come get your coffee," Rose was the first to let go of the car, practically sprinting over to the table.

"Kris," Adam caught his arm as he started for the coffee himself. "Only one cup, okay? But make sure she drinks at least two."

Kris nodded, and Adam watched his ass weaving between the tables for another few seconds before heading to the bathroom.

"Geez, how good is this stuff?" Adam asked Rose, after he'd traded off coffee-supervision-duty with Kris.

"So good," she agreed, slurping at the bottom of her first cup. "D'you think we can have more than one?"

"Mitch said whatever we need. And they've got enough here to caffeinate a small army. I say go for it."

"I'm gonna," she decided, grabbing the open box.

"Here, freshen mine up, too," Adam said, holding out his half full cup.

By the time Jenny sent them back to the car, Rose had downed two and a half cups of black coffee…and forgotten to use the restroom. "Now what?" Kris asked.

"Now we don't do anything. It'll happen on its own."

Kris's eyebrows said he didn't believe him at first, but half an hour later Rose started looking nervous and crossing her legs urgently, and Kris gave Adam an incredulous, delighted smile. "You are _evil_," he marveled.

"Mmhm," Adam agreed, watching Rose squirm.

She wet herself an hour later, making a startled whimper and running to the bathroom.

Jenny sauntered up to the car, hands on her hips, and said, "What happened to—" she checked her card, "—Rose?"

"Drank too much coffee," Steve snickered.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Jenny sighed. "Am I gonna have to ration you people?"

Kris and Adam shrugged innocently.

"I think she'll need a change of clothes," Steve suggested.

"Damn it." Jenny turned on her heels and stomped off toward the bathroom to check on the latest dropout.

The ten minutes following Rose's elimination were the most awkward yet. With no diners or shoppers filling the food court, they could all see Rose's slow, embarrassed walk to the dealership's table, where she signed papers, got back her purse and jacket, and was allowed to sit for a few minutes to rest her feet. The longer Adam watched her, her shoes kicked off and massaging her insteps, the more his own feet throbbed. Shit, he really shouldn't've worn heels. Kris had been right; his lower back was killing him, too.

Kris looked at Rose once, sitting sadly at one of the dining tables while Jenny called her a cab, and he didn't look again.

"Feel bad?" Adam asked quietly.

"No," he said. "But I don't feel _good_."

"You don't have to do any more if you don't want—"

"No," he insisted. "I want to. This one'll feel better." He jerked his chin toward the trunk.

"Okay. I'm down for whatever. You call the shots."

"Just sing along," Kris said mysteriously.

"That I can do."

Kris and Steve had spent the past hour bonding over Guitar Hero, and Kris had apparently decided this new-found friendship gave Steve the right to choose his own songs. They alternated picking songs for their playlist, a little DJ club of two. Kris ignored Tyler's requests for 30 Seconds to Mars, ignored Cynthia's request for Train. When prompted by a discreet kick to the shin, Adam begged for some Lady Gaga, and Kris rudely ignored that, too. Only Steve got to request any songs—mostly late 80's-early 90's rock—and he basked in the favoritism.

Steve and Kris talked about the concerts they'd been to, their favorite live bands and venues, their latest downloads, sounding for all the world like they were becoming the best of friends. It was completely revolting. Adam was completely delighted by Kris's acting skills.

"Oh, hey, how 'bout this one?" Kris asked Steve as he chose the next song, scrolling through his iPod with his right thumb while he leaned on his left hand.

Van Halen's _Jump_ started playing, and Steve pumped a fist in the air. "Hell yeah, man! You've been holding out on me!"

It was, of course, _Kris_ who started the jumping on the chorus, daring Tyler and Adam to get into it with him. Steve didn't need any encouragement. Adam could see the competitive spark in his eyes, the way he braced himself with both hands and tried to jump higher than everyone else each time. It was a pretty good strategy, Adam admitted, getting the jock to show off while concentrating on the music.

But Adam didn't guess Kris's true intention until it was already done—'til the second chorus ended and Kris pointed at Steve, yelled, "Guitar solo!" when Eddie Van Halen's riff started playing.

Steve leaned back in a full-body air guitar solo and played his heart out, biting his lip and thrashing his head, working the whammy bar for maximum points.

"Hey!" Cynthia said.

"_Hey_!" Jenny yelled from the column she was leaning against, only ten feet away.

And Steve dropped his hands, stomped his foot, spun in a circle, and slapped the trunk, yelling, "_Fuck_!"

Cynthia and Tyler looked on gleefully as Steve railed against his elimination, grabbing his hair and yelling that this wasn't fair. And then Tyler's gaze slid back to Kris, and Cynthia's followed, suddenly worried.

As they should be—because sweet, innocent-faced Kris had just proven himself to be every inch as sneaky as Adam, and Adam felt a niggle of doubt that maybe Kris wasn't the best person to take to the one-on-one finale, after all.

But then Kris gave a satisfied sigh and turned his back on Steve's temper tantrum, looked up at Adam with the most delightfully-shy, evil smirk imaginable, and Adam couldn't help it; he threw his head back and laughed as loud as he wanted.

The "let's all be friends" portion of the evening was officially over. Kris switched the iPod to a vaguely-country mix while he and Adam took turns feeding each other scraps of lyrics, challenging each other to sing the source. Tyler looked like he wanted to join in, but Adam was done playing friendly. He made damn sure Tyler felt excluded from their club. It was down to two-on-two, and the man and woman across from them knew it.

Tyler and Cynthia made a few earnest efforts to speak to one another, doubtless trying to form an alliance of their own. But when Tyler talked about the kind of roles he was hoping to get, Cynthia couldn't make herself look interested. And Tyler couldn't relate to Cynthia's stories about her kids. They were a disaster, and definitely at a disadvantage.

They looked exhausted and in pain, but no more so than Adam felt. Everyone was in the same boat, shifting from foot to foot, lifting up on their toes, making pitiful groaning noises every once in a while. The coffee could only do so much; discomfort and fatigue had set in, sapping all of their energy and concentration.

After they all used the bathrooms at 4 a.m., Mitch called them over to a cluster of dining tables and sat them down for an inspirational lecture of sorts.

"Okay, folks. You're down to the final four. I want all of you to think about that—you each have a 1-in-4 chance of leaving here with a new car. So whatever you gotta do to buckle down and concentrate, you gotta do it. You want this car. I know you want this car. And all you gotta do is concentrate on your hands. Now, I know these last four hours've been rough. I'm bored as hell sitting over there, and I've got NetFlix Watch Now. But you guys gotta hang in there. Okay?" He left them with a rallying _go get 'em, kid_ fist punch, and headed back to his laptop at the dealership table.

"Well," Adam said. "I'm inspired."

"I'd be inspired if we could get some _food_," Kris said. "These power bars aren't doing it for me anymore."

"Heh. You said 'doing it.'"

Kris snickered. "I did. Awesome."

"I would murder for a tofu burger right now."

"Chicken fried steak."

"Garlic stir-fried seitan and eggplant."

"Pizza withsausage and pepperoni," Kris said, his voice going dreamy.

Adam groaned, "_Fuck_, you're killing me."

"You'd…." Kris looked at him, confused. "You're not vegetarian?"

"Fuck no. Not on principle, anyway," he corrected. "I just can't afford to eat that stuff anymore." He slapped his ass as they stood up, tight as a drum in jeans he never could have fit into back in college, let alone high school.

"Get out," Kris said, following him back to the car. "You're worried about your weight?"

"Yeah?" His tone was a defensive, 'Why not?'

"But you're, I mean, you're—" There was a crash as Kris walked into a metal chair, and Adam turned around to find him rubbing his knee and wincing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just…. I got distracted."

"You're not allowed to lose it on me. I need you to be able to function."

"I can; I'm good. Just. Yeah."

"Adam, Kris, let's go!" Jenny called.

"Come on," Adam said, tugging on Kris's shoulder and marching him into position.

Adam convinced Kris to change his alt-country playlist when they were back at the car. Technically, Kris didn't require much convincing. He pulled his iPod out of the front seat, Adam stuck his lip out in a pout, and after a moment's hesitation Kris dialed in some Queen.

"I could seriously kiss you right now," Adam grinned, his hips rocking with the bass.

"Um," Kris said.

"Give me your body, yeah," Adam sang, and Kris ducked his head down and tapped along on the roof.

  
~

  
The uneasy calm between the two sides of the car lasted through the rest of the night and into the dawn. The lightening of the sky should have brought a sense of hope, but to Adam it felt like time was running out. He wasn't prepared to face another full day of standing in a bustling food court, trying to out-think and out-maneuver three people.

Mitch came around again just before 6 a.m. to tell them, "The mall's gonna reopen at 9, and we're gonna have a lot of traffic through here, hopefully twice what we got yesterday. A lot of people are gonna see the car, and they're gonna see _you_. And that's a problem, 'cause—to be honest—you all look like a bunch of homeless people right now. And we don't want potential buyers thinking homeless people drive our cars. So at 7:40, we're gonna give you a longer break. You can wash up, shave, fix your makeup—Jenny's got electric razors for you, and some CoverGirl cosmetics. And lots of deodorant. Do what you gotta do to look human."

"You're an asshole," Cynthia said to Mitch's face.

"Oof," Adam winced.

Mitch's chin jerked to the side in a weird kind of stress-twitch before he found a smile again. "Three more hours 'til show time. You can do it, people!" He tapped the hood as if they needed any more reminders where their hands were supposed to stay, and left.

"Damn, woman," Tyler hissed.

"I don't know where he gets off!" Cynthia began, finally finding a target for her frustration.

Adam turned around, sandwiching his hands between his ass and the car, and noticed Kris scratching at the stubble shading his jaw. "What d'you think—you gonna shave?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too. D'you think they'll let me use the makeup? Mine's almost all worn off." He wriggled a hand out from behind him and rubbed under his eyes, frowning at the traces of fallen mascara and eyeliner that left dark smudges on his fingers. He rubbed them away on his black jeans.

"They have to. Otherwise it's discrimination," Kris said seriously.

"You'll totally have my back," Adam nodded. "You and me, fighting for our right to Jenny's free eyeliner."

"Well, _your_ right," Kris said. "I don't think I could pull it off."

Adam reached over and tipped Kris's chin up, stubble a soft buzz against his fingertips. Kris in eyeliner…he could picture it, and he liked what he was seeing. "Oh, I think you could," he said, low. "I really do. Yeah."

"O— Okay," Kris agreed faintly.

"You ever worn any on stage? Your eyes would…they would really stand out. They'd look hot."

"You think so?" Kris said, voice breaking into a whisper, his eyes saucer-round.

"Oh yeah." He let his fingers slide along Kris's jaw, brushing up toward his ear, and then realized with a shock what he was doing.

Adam pulled his hand back sharply, got it tucked safely away behind him, and determinedly ordered himself to stop trying to seduce his straight ally.

Fuck, it was late. No, it was early. His thoughts had become more and more scattered since Steve's elimination; they kept flying away from him, making it hard to focus on any one thing. He tried to think about how his life would change if he had a car, if he didn't have to beg his friends for rides all the time. He tried picturing his lowest moments, wearing pieces of his performance costumes on the bus because they were too bulky to fit in a garment bag. The steel mesh devil-wings that weighed a ton and didn't allow him to sit down the whole ride downtown. He'd been exhausted by the time he'd arrived at the theatre, and the stares and whispers he'd gotten had made his skin crawl.

But even those thoughts couldn't hold his attention. It was just _easier_ to focus on Kris, for all that that was crossing a line he'd promised himself not to cross. He couldn't drive Kris away yet—not when there were still two opponents standing across from them. He would _not_ turn on Kris before the end.

Shit. It was late and it was early and he was falling apart. He could _act_ alert, he could keep his hands on the car, but his brain wasn't in the game anymore, and that left him vulnerable. No way would he last another 12 hours without somebody tricking his ass. Or even worse, just up and forgetting which hand was supposed to be touching the car when he needed to scratch his balls.

Now that the seed of self-doubt had been planted, it made Adam desperate to fight back. Things needed to start happening, and _soon_, before anyone realized how scattered he'd become.

He glanced over his shoulder. Tyler wanted to be an actor. Adam was willing to bet Tyler had countless movie scenes memorized. They might be able to trick him into reciting a few—preferably ones with a lot of hand gestures. Cynthia looked exhausted and angry. She had finished her diatribe against Mitch, but she was still worked up. He could pick a fight with her, easy. He just had to push the right buttons.

And he had a pretty good idea what one of them was.

Adam cleared his throat, and Kris leaned closer to ask, "What's the play?"

Kris's automatic support bolstered his spirits. "Okay, this…this is gonna sound crazy. And like I'm hitting on you. But I'm totally not," Adam warned.

"Okay."

"I wanna kiss you."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure it'll piss Cynthia off."

"You're 'pretty sure'?"

"Yeah. And I mean, you've kissed guys before. So it wouldn't be…."

Kris cocked an amused eyebrow. "Be what? Say it."

"Uh…unprecedented?"

"Okay," he said, starting to smile.

"Okay?"

"Okay. You can kiss me."

"You…. Seriously?"

"Yeah. If you think it'll work, I can take one for the team." At Adam's stunned expression, he shrugged. "I trust you."

Kris was officially the best alliance partner he could've asked for. "Okay," Adam said, relieved.

"How should I stand?" Kris asked, turning his body toward Adam. "This way—"

Adam caught his chin, pulled his face up and kissed him without warning, sliding his free hand around the back of Kris's neck to keep him there, at just the right angle to show Cynthia his tongue sliding over Kris's lips. Kris's body stiffened for a moment and then melted against him, one hand sliding up Adam's arm to clutch his shoulder. Kris made a surprised whimpering sound as he opened his mouth to Adam, groaned when their tongues met.

"That's right," Adam whispered, encouraging Kris's play-acting, and dove in for another kiss. Kris pulled on his shoulder and moaned louder, playing it brilliantly, tongue chasing after Adam's when he eased off.

Adam gripped Kris's hair to keep him still, pulled back enough to peek across the car. Cynthia was gone.

He straightened up, fingers relaxing to massage Kris's neck absently as he looked for their opponent. She was standing in front of Mitch's table, waving her arms and gesturing back at them. If he wanted to, Adam could maybe have made out what she was saying over the sound of Beck's _Soul of a Man_ pumping through the speakers, but he really didn't care.

"Score," he grinned.

"Oh my god," Kris sighed. "I can't believe that worked."

"Fuck yeah."

Kris leaned in close and whispered where only Adam could hear, "D'you think Tyler looks upset?"

Tyler certainly didn't look _happy_. He looked kind of freaked out, actually, wild-eyes looking anywhere but at the two of them. "Yeah, maybe," Adam said.

"Then let's go for a double," Kris breathed, and then dragged his lips over the studs in Adam's earlobe.

Adam shuddered and found Kris's mouth, tried to concentrate on the feel of the smooth paint under his left palm. It was hard to remember that it was all an act; that it was part of the game and there was something at stake other than mutual pleasure. Kris's body was hot against him, his tongue so eager and determined. Adam tried to remind himself that the noises Kris was making were just an act, but fuck if they weren't convincing. And addictive.

He did his best to contribute, gave a few exaggerated grunts when Kris scraped his teeth over his lower lip. There was some kind of choking noise coming from the other side of the car, where apparently Tyler was gagging at the sight of two men making out.

If just kissing could freak him out…. "Kris, Kris," Adam said against his lips.

He mumbled something that was probably "What?" or possibly "Not now."

Adam fisted his hand in Kris's hair to get his attention. "What say we put on a _real_ show," he growled, tipping his head slightly in Tyler's direction.

Kris nodded breathlessly and Adam growled again, crouched down where Tyler couldn't see him and rubbed his face against Kris's flat, hard stomach, cotton flannel soft against his lips. "Oh Jesus," Kris gasped, hand resting on Adam's head. "Oh God."

It wasn't necessary to go any further—Kris could probably pull off a convincing orgasm all by himself. But since Adam was down there anyway…. He ducked lower, licked at the denim over his zipper, one hand on Kris's knee, the other on the side panel.

"Please," Kris whimpered. "Please."

Listening to him was driving Adam a little crazy. It was all for show, all for Tyler's benefit, until Kris pushed Adam's head even lower, and his cheek rubbed against Kris's crotch, and Adam felt the hardness in his jeans.

"God, do it," Kris said, bucking a little, and holy fucking hell, Kris was turned on for real. And begging like Adam's favorite kind of porn.

All thoughts of Tyler went out the window. Adam shoved Kris's hip back against the car, stood up and crowded the shorter man against the driver's door. Kris's right hand grabbed the side mirror, Adam got a good grip on the door frame, and when he leaned in this time, Kris moaned.

"Do you know what you do to me?" Adam demanded, holding his lips just out of reach as he pressed a thigh between Kris's, started grinding up against him.

"Fuck," Kris panted, writhing under him, blindingly hot as his eyes fell closed. Adam had to dive in and kiss him again, wet and out-of-control, the rocking of their hips forceful enough to rock the whole car.

If they weren't in public he would turn Kris around, get his pants down and fuck him here and now, laid out on the hood screaming with that pretty voice of his. But Kris's button-down shirt was just long enough, untucked and loose over his hips. Adam fumbled his hand between them, unthreaded Kris's belt buckle.

"Yeah," Kris said, begging with his hand and lips, bucking up against him.

He kept their bodies close, so close no one could see what he was doing as he thumbed open the button of Kris's jeans. Kris's breath hitched as he slid the zipper down slow, Kris panting against his skin, arm looped around his neck for support.

"I can't believe this…" Adam groaned as he twisted his hand, worked his fingers into Kris's open pants, under his boxers. His fingers brushed hot skin, and Kris stiffened, his whole body jerking as Adam wrapped his hand around Kris's cock and squeezed once, twice. Kris came undone, crying out as he came, as Adam jerked him through it and mumbled praise into his mouth.

Kris gulped for air, face red and slack, forehead beaded with sweat, mouth-open and eyes closed, and Adam couldn't resist all that beauty, all his. He wiped his hand on Kris's shirttail, shoved his fingers in Kris's hair again, tipped the shorter man's head back for a deep kiss, tongue settling in for a long exploration. Kris shivered and twitched under him, sucked on Adam's tongue and tugged at Adam's t-shirt like he hadn't had enough.

Adam dragged his lips across Kris's cheek, up to his eyebrow, and said roughly, "You're so fucking beautiful like this, baby. So hot."

Kris's hand slid lower, down to Adam's waist and inward, inching toward Adam's fly, and then there were hands on Adam's shoulders trying to pull him away. Adam resisted—it couldn't be time for a break already, and Kris was still _his_….

But Mitch was walking up to the car, and Tyler was already sitting at a table, and it was just him and Kris left, the final two. Kris blinked up at him, wrecked and confused, his hand still gripping the side-mirror, and Adam finally noticed that _both_ his hands were laced through Kris's hair.

"Oh," he said, helpless anger washing over him as he let Jenny tug him away from his ally.

She unhooked the velvet rope and pushed him ahead of her, over to a dining table next to her own work space. "Sit here. I'll get you your things." She wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Congratulations, Mr. Allen," Mitch said loudly.

Adam's bitterness triggered a suspicion that he'd just been played. But as much as he wanted to blame his loss on someone else—on _Kris_—Kris could barely stand. He didn't seem to have any clue that his pants were hanging open, that cum was drying on his shirt; he was staring at Adam like he didn't even care that he'd just won, or that Mitch was shaking his hand and talking to him with a sour expression.

Adam smiled ruefully and cracked open the bottle of water Jenny handed him. "What happened to Tyler?" he made himself ask her.

"He left his assigned place," she said, still not looking at him. "He was trying to…um…get a better view."

Adam's head whipped around to Tyler's table on his left, and he caught the actor looking at him with naked hunger and awe on his face. Huh. He hadn't expected that.

Adam's feet were throbbing, his back ached, and a headache swooped in out of nowhere. He glared down at his boots, wondering if he should risk taking them off to uncramp his toes…or just slice his legs off at the knees and never walk again.

Jenny dropped his phone and wallet on the table and offered him some coffee for the road. Adam ignored her, deep in a sulk about having to call Brad to come get him. His ex would be insufferable. Adam could try to distract Brad with boasts about groping the cute straight boy, but Brad would see right through those, would cut straight to Adam's embarrassment at losing his head again. Blinded by another pretty face—god, story of his L.A. love life. When the hell would he learn to use his head?

The car stereo finally cut out a few minutes later, and when Adam looked back there was a little ceremony going on. Kris was signing some papers, and then Jenny photographed him accepting the same set of keys from Mitch that they'd had in the ignition all night. It seemed Kris had finally recovered—he looked more alert, and his belt buckle wasn't peeking out below his shirt anymore. His hair was still a wreck, though. And yeah, Adam remembered doing that now; the move that had cost him the win. He'd always been a hair-puller. He liked short guys, liked how easy it was to grab their hair….

_Fuck_. Adam adjusted himself and sighed. He wasn't calling Brad or going _anywhere_ before he found a private place to jerk off…or maybe just dragged Tyler into the bathroom and made sure they both got a happy ending. The actor was still hanging around, maybe hoping for exactly that opportunity. Adam checked the time on his phone—6:25—and gritted his teeth, watched Kris shifting as his jeans became uncomfortable, cum sticky in his boxers.

Kris…who was unexpectedly standing in front of him, shiny new keys in his hand and a nervous heat in his eyes, saying, "Hi, Adam."

"Congratulations," he muttered.

"Thanks. Um." Kris dug his hand into his pocket, inadvertently drawing attention to his hips, and reminding Adam exactly how good it had felt to rock up against them. "So…you look like you could use a ride home? I was thinking…."

Adam was almost tempted to accept the lift Kris was working up the courage to offer, even if all that was on the table was friendship. Something about Kris's slow grin and hidden cleverness had rubbed Adam the right way—multiple right ways, in fact—and he was definitely someone Adam would hang out with again.

But Adam was beyond exhausted, his feet were swollen (he would probably have to cut them out of the boots, which was just one more loss this month), and his dick had just cost him the car he needed so badly; he wasn't about to get over his defeat that easily.

"The saying is 'graceful _loser_,' not 'winner,'" Adam answered, his pride stinging. "It's nice you feel bad about beating me, but I'm not helpless, you know."

Kris flushed, but he wasn't driven away by Adam's bitchiness. "Actually I was gonna ask _your_ help." He shot a look at the red candy car over his shoulder, looked back at Adam and bit his lip, shifting on equally sore feet. "…breaking in the backseat."

It took Adam's brain a few seconds to adjust from bitterness to astonishment to impossibly turned on. "Oh," he said softly, "_oh_," watching the possibilities stretch out before him like the new day outside. "Well," he said, a slow, delighted smile curling his lips up. "Now that you mention it…."

Kris started to grin. "Yeah?"

"I could definitely use a ride. You got time for the scenic route?"


End file.
